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Out cruising for hookers in my rusted van of terror

Flashing dollar bills to get your attention

You'll soon meet your maker in my chamber of horror

Don't ask your savior for divine intervention

Blunt force trauma with a hammer to the head

Strung up on meat hooks and left for dead

For some weeks, you'll hang there to rot

My own private slaughterhouse is what I've got

Need their corpses to be putrid and smelly

Time to empty all the bowels and your belly

Cold steel piercing dead flesh

Gut you like a slaughtered pig draining the blood

Entrails pouring out as the tub gets over flood

Time to cleanse my fucking soul

Now I need a bath in this oozing pool of gore

Now I must feel

Their insides on my skin

Masturbation with fermented entrails

Start to rub my cock with a handful of innards

Shooting my load into the abdominal cavity

My orgasm is great